Chapter Twenty-One
CASSIA
The makeshift camp settles into an uneasy quiet as the moon draws a slow path across the clear sky.
Our tents are arranged in a loose perimeter around the escapees, the recruits’ breathing gradually evening out as exhaustion takes hold.
The prisoners sit bound against three separate trees, their forms barely visible in the dying light of our single campfire.
Having foregone a tent, I lie on my bedroll, staring through the canopy at stars I’ve never seen from inside the perimeter.
My body aches from the day’s violence, but sleep feels impossible.
Each time I close my eyes, that man’s face appears—the moment resignation flickered in his gaze as my blade found its mark.
The burden of his blood on my hands is heavier than the tactical gear strapped to my chest.
One of the women we captured hasn’t stopped crying.
Soft, broken sobs that slice through the night air every few seconds.
Her friend whimpers occasionally, a sound that makes my chest tighten with something I can’t name.
Beside her, the young man Kellen secured earlier sits with his head bowed, shoulders shaking with what might be grief or rage.
I count the minutes until the guard rotation. Darius took first watch, his silhouette visible against the fire’s glow as he patrols the camp’s edge. In an hour, Nash will replace him. Then Corin.
My fingers trace the outline of my knife through the fabric of my pack. The blade that ended a life today. The same blade that might save three tonight.
The plan forms in fragments, each piece clicking into place as I sort through the various possibilities.
Wait for Nash’s watch. He’s a Concealer which means he’ll be focused on the shadows and any moving parts in the uneven terrain.
His attention will be on the perimeter, not the prisoners.
I can use power to cloud his judgment, make him drowsy or distracted enough to miss my movement.
I know the risks.
If I’m caught, there’s not a single explanation that will save me.
No story about sleepwalking or needing to relieve myself that will account for cut ties and missing prisoners.
Arayik would execute me on the spot, and my family would never know what happened to their daughter who vanished one morning with nothing but a cryptic note.
Yet the alternative—watching these people get dragged back to breeding facilities or worse—feels like a suffocating betrayal of everything I am beneath this mask.
Remnants of the fire pop, sending flickering ash spiraling into the darkness. Next to me, Calder shifts in his tent, and for a moment I think he might be awake. His breathing pattern seems even. He doesn’t move again, and after several tense seconds, I convince myself it’s just paranoia.
Time crawls. The forest around us settles into its nocturnal rhythm as the air chills. It’s going to be rather cold by morning.
When Nash finally takes his position, I force myself to wait another thirty minutes.
Long enough for Darius to fall asleep and Nash to settle into his routine; for his attention to drift toward the treeline where threats might emerge.
The prisoners have gone quiet, exhaustion finally claiming them despite their circumstances.
I rise slowly, every movement intentional to avoid the telltale creak of gear or a rustle of fabric. My boots find the soft spots between roots and leaves, years of learning ultimate silence in my family’s house serving me now in ways I never imagined.
Nash stands twenty feet from the prisoners, his back partially turned as he scans the forest. Perfect.
I reach out with my empathy, feeling for the edges of his consciousness.
His emotions are a steady hum of boredom and mild alertness—exactly what I need.
I don’t push hard, just a gentle nudge toward drowsiness.
The kind of fatigue that one would sustain after a day of battle and travel, nothing that would trigger suspicion if questioned later.
His shoulders relax slightly, head tilting back to glance at the stars, and I know I have my window. He’s partially asleep, enough that he won’t immediately notice light sound or movement from my direction.
My feet hurry to the prisoners, the women snapping awake to stare at me with wide eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I breathe. They strain to hear the words. “I’m going to free you.” I receive skeptical glances, but neither of them makes a sound and I take that as my cue to get started.
The bonds are simple zip-ties, designed for speed rather than top security. My knife parts the plastic easily. The young man’s eyes snap open as I touch his wrist, but I press a finger to my lips. The relief I experience when understanding flickers across his features is unmatched.
Once they’re free, I gesture toward the treeline, away from Nash’s position. They move just as quiet as me, their bare feet silent on the forest floor.
But as they reach the edge of the firelight, the woman who was crying before stops. She turns back, and even in the darkness I see more tears streaming down her face, catching in the dark hair matted to her cheek. She mouths two words: “Thank you.”
My knees almost buckle. This is why I’m here…not for the Syndicate’s mission or Arayik’s approval or even my own survival. For this moment; this small act of defiance that might mean the difference between life and death for three people who dared to dream of freedom.
They vanish into the forest, and I pray to every star they make it far before the camp notices. The stars are not on my side tonight, because as I trudge toward my bedroll, I freeze.
Elias.
He stands at the center of camp, his silhouette unmistakable even without the dying firelight to illuminate his features. My heart flips as our eyes meet across the space between us.
Time stops.
He saw everything. I’m caught, exposed, and more than finished.
My hand drifts toward my knife, though I know it’s useless. Elias is faster, stronger, better trained. If he raises the alarm, I’ll be dead before I can take three steps. But maybe—maybe I can take him with me. Buy the escapees enough time to get clear before the others wake.
But my squad leader doesn’t move. Doesn’t shout. Doesn’t reach for his weapon.
He just stares at me, and in that gaze something flashes that makes my world tilt on its axis: conflict. Pain. A battle playing out behind his eyes that mirrors my own internal war as his fists clench repeatedly.
Seconds stretch into eternity, my breathing impossibly loud. Nash continues his patrol, oblivious to the drama unfolding thirty feet away. The fire crackles and pops, casting drowsy shadows that mock the stillness between Elias and me.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Elias turns his head away.
He peers into the forest where the prisoners vanished, then back at the empty trees where they should be sitting. His jaw works, as if he’s having a conversation with himself. His struggle is palpable.
When he finally regards me again, there’s something different in his expression. A kind of resigned understanding which forms an ache in my chest.
He knows what I’ve done. And he’s choosing to let it happen.
Elias steps away, retreating until he’s ducked into his tent once more. His presence lingers under my skin, a reminder that my secret is no longer mine alone.
I force my legs to carry me back to my bedroll, each step like walking through a lake of mud. My hands tremble as I grip rough fabric, dragging the blanket up to my chin with mechanical movements—disconnected the same way my mind is.
Elias witnessed me committing treason; watched me free prisoners that the Syndicate considers valuable assets. By all rights, he should have put a bullet in my head the moment I cut those ties.
Why didn’t he?
The question gnaws at me as I stare sightlessly at the stars that lost their beauty. What does his silence mean? Sympathy? Some kind of test I don’t understand? Or is he simply waiting for a better moment to expose me?
Tomorrow, when Arayik discovers the missing prisoners, I must be prepared for Elias to step forward with the truth. To describe exactly what he saw, who was responsible, and how the escape was accomplished.
The thought sours my stomach. Suddenly, the confidence I’d felt with my choice dwindles to mere threads.
But as I close my eyes and try to find sleep, I see the woman’s face again. The gratitude in her eyes. That moment of hope blooming through her previously imminent despair.
It was worth it.
Whatever comes next, whatever price I have to pay, it was worth it.
I want to be scared…to fear the consequences of my actions.
Instead, I’ve learned change isn’t something you plan for.
It happens in the moments when you accept that speaking up costs more than remaining silent, but do it anyway.
When you know that standing while those around you kneel is dangerous, yet still find the courage to rise and face your oppressors.
That is how change begins.
If Elias chooses to expose me tomorrow, and my time here ends in execution or worse, at least I’ll know I didn’t just watch.